Текст книги "Chosen"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Judith Williams

CHAPTER 37

Behind me I sense Tracey pacing like a caged lioness. As soon as she sees my hand lower the page, she pounces.

“Who is she? What does she mean you two have a date with destiny? Why is she holding David hostage? What’s that crap about your true nature?”

She grabs my arm and spins me toward her.

I let her. As long as she’s venting, I can try to figure a way out of this mess. She doesn’t recognize Judith Williams’ name, which is a plus. But Tracey was a cop who worked for Chief Williams. It won’t be long before something triggers a spark of recognition and she puts it together.

Crap. The only thing I can think to do is tie Tracey up and stick her in a closet. For three days? Not very practical.

Tracey still has her hand on my arm. She’s staring at me. “Your skin is cold.” She narrows her eyes. “The note said something about your true nature? What are you?”

The question catches me off guard. As does Tracey’s reaction. She jumps back and away. The fight drains out of her. Her eyes no longer blaze anger, they blaze fear. I smell it on her, mingling with the stink of that perfume she seems to bathe in. Sickly sweet. “What are you?” she asks again.

I try for menacing. “What do you think I am?”

Her expression morphs from terror to confusion. “But is David—?” Her voice drops off before she completes the question.

This may be the opening I need. “Is David like me? No. I’m vampire. He’s worse.” Then I laugh. “Are you serious? You think this is for real? This is a game we play. Like Dungeons and Dragons. You weren’t supposed to know about it. People tend to think it’s a little strange when adults play role-playing games. But it’s harmless. A way to blow off steam.”

She’s rubbing her hands together. “But you’re cold.”

“Poor circulation. Been a problem my whole life. It’s hell on your sex life. Men don’t like getting naked with an ice cube.”

Tracey draws a breath. “Then this whole thing—”

“Is a game. I’m sorry you misunderstood. We only do this once or twice a year but authenticity is part of the fun. We stage mock kidnappings, arrange ‘accidents.’ David will be very embarrassed when he learns you found out.”

I watch as she processes what I’ve told her. The fact that she reacted so violently to the idea that I might be something other than human is worrisome. But if I pursue that now, I risk destroying the illusion that the note is anything other than a game prop.

At last she relaxes. She looks uncomfortable as color floods her face. “I’m sorry I burst in here like a mad-woman,” she says. “First there was that call from David’s girlfriend, then this note. You really should have let me know what you were doing. Maybe I can play sometime, too?”

I have a hand on the small of her back, ushering her toward the door. “Maybe you can. But for now, this is our secret, all right?”

She nods. “I’ll hold down the office until you guys get back on Wednesday. Then I expect to hear all about your adventures.”

I smile and wave her out then lean back against the closed door. Is she for real? I thought Iwas gullible. Tracey not only bought the story, she wants to play with us next time.

This is why I hate taking on a new partner.

I peek out through the front window to make sure she’s gone. Then I turn my attention to the note.

Being right about Judith Williams holding David brings no great sense of satisfaction. She’s already killed two humans. She’s fed, but what happens when the hunger strikes again?

The second impression is that she and David seem to be talking. Why does he think he’s been taken? Did she really tell him I’m vampire? How did he react to thatpiece of news? She didn’t say where she’s holding him, either. I still believe I’m right about that one. Frey and I will check out Avery’s as planned tonight.

Frey. He foundthe book? How? A little detail he didn’t mention this afternoon. Of course, I didn’t ask. He has a vast library of supernatural reference books. I assumed it was part of that library.

Which begs the next question. Where did Judith Williams get it? If the book does contain a way for me to get out of this ridiculous situation, why would Williams leave it laying around? He never gave meany indication that I had a choice. Just the opposite. According to him, my destiny was well—predestined.

I haven’t moved from the door when there’s another knock. I jump as if scalded, heart pounding, clutch the note to my chest like a life preserver.

Jesus. Get a grip.

Another peek out the window at Frey’s familiar face and form. He stands looking straight at the door, still holding that briefcase and wearing those ridiculous glasses. He has a look of excited expectation. He’s dressed in black jeans, too, with a linen shirt and a leather jacket. A square-jawed Indiana Jones about to embark on a great adventure. I wish I could share his enthusiasm.

As I swing open the door to let him in, I thrust the email toward him.

He places the briefcase at his feet, removes the glasses from his face and slips them into a jacket pocket before smoothing the paper to read what’s written on it.

I give him a minute. “You foundthe book?”

He glances up at me, then back down at the paper. “Not found. Exactly. More like discoveredin a box of books sent anonymously to me last week. Happens all the time. Witches, warlocks, all sorts of supernaturals will me their libraries when they pass on. They know I am a Keeper.”

“Keeper?”

“Of the secrets. My father was one before me. My son will inherit the mantle when I pass on. It’s tradition.”

There is so much in that one simple declaration that demands clarification I scarcely know what to ask first. No, not true. I know exactly what to ask first. My voice torques up to screech.

“You have a son?”

He looks amused at the confusion reflected in my voice and the complete bewilderment that I’m sure is reflected in my expression. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Surprised? No. Surprised doesn’t quite cover what I am. I’m dumbfounded. I’m fucking stupefied. You never mentioned a son. You never mentioned a family. Are you married?”

He shakes his head. “One does not have to be married to have children. I’m surprised you’d jump to that conclusion.”

He’s missing the point, evading my question. I have an overwhelming urge to shake him. I press the palms of my hands together to resist temptation. “Shape-shifter. Do. You. Have. A. Son?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Again, the look of amusement. “You know. Egg plus sperm equals conception. Bio 101. Has it been that long?”

He’s enjoying this. Way too much. The growl starts deep in my throat. “You’re fucking with me. Not a good idea. I’m tired, worried about David and trying really hard to resist the urge to slap that stupid expression off your face.”

Frey relents with upturned hands and a sheepish smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be making jokes. Not now. What do you want to know?”

The shock of being hit with this unexpected bit of information about a man I thought I knew leaves me weak in the knees. A condition that’s becoming chronic. I want to sit down so I motion Frey over to the couch. When he’s settled, I take the chair opposite him and lean forward. “For starters, you are a shape-shifter. They reproduce like humans?”

“We are human. With a genetic difference. And yes, we procreate in the usual way.”

“How old is your son?”

“Four.”

“Does he live here in San Diego?”

“No. He lives with his mother’s people in Monument Valley.”

“She’s Native American?”

“Navajo, yes.”

“Do you see him often?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It is in his best interest.”

These abbreviated answers are as irritating as they are devoid of useful information. Yet, there is an air of quiet resignation in Frey’s manner that makes me refrain from pushing for more.

At least not now.

Later, though, when David is safe and my problem has been solved . . . That will be different. Then I intend to pursue this if I have to beat answers out of him. There is one other thing, though, that the bitch in me needs to know. Now.

“Does Layla know about your son?”

He looks at me and puffs out an impatient breath. He can’t read my thoughts, but he knows me well enough to suspect why I’m asking. “No.”

“Is that the truth?”

“You think I’m lying?”

I can tell by the defensive set of his shoulders that it’s all I’m going to get. It’s okay. The sense of satisfaction I’m experiencing over knowing something about her lover that Layla doesn’t is childish but gratifying.

He puffs out another breath. “Can we get back to why I’m here?”

“Sure. Where did you say you got the book?”

Frey launches into the story. UPS delivered the books two days ago. He admits he paid no attention to the return name or address. He could have checked with the carrier to see where they came from if he’d wanted to. But it hadn’t occurred to him to do so. Sometimes, he says, families are embarrassed when they find books on the occult in a deceased relative’s possessions. Often, the box is already sealed and addressed, and even more often, the person to whom the books belonged mails them himself when he or she feels death is near.

He finishes with, “Happens two or three times a year so I no longer question it. I’m grateful because otherwise the written heritage of the supernatural community would be lost.”

“But this didn’t seem a little convenient to you?” I ask. “A book that just happens to be exactly what we were looking for? A book that details who the Chosen One is and what will happen on an appointed date? How do you know it’s not a fake?”

“It isn’t a fake.” Frey’s tone is adamant.

“If Judith Williams had anything to do with you getting that book, how can you be so sure?”

“I know, all right? I’ve been authenticating these books for thirty years. This is no fake. That it came from Williams should convince you if nothing else. He probably got the book from Avery. Avery had been vampire for four hundred years. It would make sense that he’d have such a book. Didn’t you say he had a treasure trove of ancient artifacts in his basement?”

I press my palms against my eyes. That basement held more than artifacts. It became the repository of my worst nightmares—finding David near death and then later, watching a shape-shifter named Sandra battle the vengeful soul of Avery who had insinuated himself into her body in order to kill me.

Have we come full circle? Is David once again being held prisoner in that basement? I let two chances pass by and I didn’t do it.

This time I will.

This time, I will burn that fucking house to the ground.

When I look up at Frey, he seems to know what I’m thinking and feeling.

“What?”

His expression is stern. “We can’t go in there guns blazing.”

“Is it that obvious? Or have you found a way to reconnect our broken link?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need to reconnect anything. I know you. It’s not hard to figure out what you want to do. You have a habit of acting first, sorting out the damage later. Can’t do that this time. There’s an innocent involved.”

He doesn’t think I know that? I stand up. “We’d better get going.”

“Wait.” Frey stands, too, but doesn’t take a step toward the door. “There is something else in the note. Have you forgotten? She mentioned an escape clause.”

I had forgotten. I sit back down on the edge of the chair. “Go on.”

Frey sits, too, reaches for the book. “She’s right. The book does tell of a way for the Chosen to relinquish claim to the title.”

But he pauses here, and it isn’t until I snap, “Damn it, Frey, what is it?” that he continues.

Reluctantly.

“There is the challenge.”

“Challenge?”

“Any one of the heads of the thirteen tribes can challenge the ascension of the Chosen One.”

“Not that I want to give the impression that I believe all this crap, but what challenge? I thought the Chosen One was predestined. Had special powers.”

Frey chooses to ignore sarcasm dripping thick and glutinous as honey from every word when he answers. “The identity of the Chosen One is predestined. But if there is a challenge and he or she is defeated, it is believed there was a flaw in the prophecy and the victor assumes the title.”

I clap my hands. “Great. All we need is a challenger. I’ll let that lucky vampire win the contest and we can both go on our merry ways.”

“Not exactly.”

“Well, then whatexactly?”

Frey is not looking at me. He’s looking down and around and everywhere except in my direction. The vampire loses patience and erupts with a snarl.

“Jesus, Frey. Do I have to reach down your throat and pull every fucking word out of your mouth?”

For a second, the panther flashes in Frey’s eyes. This time the rumbling growl comes from him. “Watch it, Anna. You need me more than I need you right now.”

He’s right. I back down with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sorry. I just want a straight answer. Something you seem reluctant to give.”

“If I’m reluctant, it’s because I care about you.” Frey taps the cover of the book with an index finger. “I know how much you ridicule the idea of assuming responsibility for the vampire community. But the alternative is not one wins and one loses. It’s one lives and one dies. It’s a fight. To the death.”

CHAPTER 38

A fight to the death.

Of course it is. What should provoke a startled reaction gets instead a resigned sigh. How could I expect anything less than a fight to the death when it involves the vampire community?

I meet Frey’s anxious gaze. “That’s why you didn’t tell me about the challenge sooner? Because it’s a fight to the death? Did you think that would scare me?”

Frey shakes his head. “No. I knew you wouldn’t be scared. Judith Williams, though, doesn’t know you as well. She would mention an escape clause for only one reason. She knows there will be a challenge.”

No. I stand up and push the chair away with an impatient shove. “Pretty improbable, don’t you think? When she came to us a few days ago, she didn’t even know where to go to feed. Now she’s organizing a challenge?”

“I can’t explain it. But if she put it in the note, it means she expected you to ask me about it. Expected you to learn the truth. Maybe she thought it would scare you into doing something stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Like not showing up for the ceremony.”

“If we can get David out of there before Tuesday, why would that be such a bad idea?”

“Because, if you don’t show up, you’ve declared yourself rogue. No ceremony. No challenge. The Chosen One’s duty is to set the path for the next two hundred years. By ignoring what is written, you disrupt the balance. There must be a Chosen One. Only by your death can another be marked.”

He doesn’t say any more. He doesn’t have to. It’s obvious what follows. If I don’t go through with this crazy ceremony, I’ll be hunted down.

Great.

Just great. I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. May as well stake myself now.

Still, David is out there somewhere. Whatever that crazy bitch tries to do to me, I can protect myself. David is defenseless. “Well, nothing you’ve said changes what we have to do now. We’ll drive out to Avery’s. If I’m wrong and the house is deserted, we’ll decide the next step then.”

He slips off his jacket and leaves it with the briefcase and book on my couch. We go out through the backyard and into the garage. Neither of us has much to say on the ride to La Jolla. While I’m still having a hard time accepting the notion that the fate of the vampire world rests on my shoulders, the sad truth is, there seem to be many out there who do. Including the two people whose opinion I’ve counted on most since becoming vampire—Frey and Culebra.

Maybe if I were smart, I’d stop fighting. There must be some vibe I send off that makes crazies like Underwood and not-so-crazies like Frey and Culebra see something in me that I do not. Maybe I should simply go to Judith Williams and tell her I’ll do whatever she wants. Honor the crazy dreams of her crazy husband. Let her determine the course of my life for the next few hundred years. Become the Chosen One and rule from the ivory tower of her choice.

All I’ll ask in return is David’s safe release and a few weeks a year to visit with my family.

An offer she can hardly refuse.

If that is indeed what she wants.

I’m so deep in my own thoughts that the drive to Avery’s is done on automatic pilot. Frey is quiet, too, probably afraid of setting me off again. It isn’t until we’re about a mile from the house on the top of Mount Soledad that I pull the Jag over and stop.

Frey turns toward me. “You want me to get out here and shift?”

“I think that’s a good idea. There’s lots of cover. Trees. Bushes.”

It’s dark on the road. Not many streetlights. There doesn’t have to be. The homes on this street all have their own brightly lit security gates attached to high walls of brick or stone. The closer you get to the top of the mountain, the higher the fences, the more secure the gates.

Frey takes off his shoes, tosses them into the backseat. He unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off and slips out of his slacks. No underwear. He catches me watching him.

“I think Layla would disapprove of the expression on your face.”

“To the contrary, I think Layla would approve. Right before she scratched my eyes out. Anyway, get going. The sooner you find out how she’s guarding David, the sooner we can make a plan to get him out.”

I give Frey a description of the layout of the place—how the detached garage is at the back of the house, how there’s a walk connecting the garage to the back door, how the back of the house is floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific far below.

It’s not easy talking logistics to a naked man. My eyes tend to wander. I’d forgotten what a nice body Frey has. He shifts slightly in the seat, giving me a better view. He knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly what I’m doing. Probably the reason he undressed before we had this conversation instead of waiting until after.

At last he opens the door and steps out. He melts into the bushes without a backward glance. There’s a rustle and a low catlike growl and the bushes beside the car no longer move.

I rest my head against the seat, close my eyes. I figure ten minutes for Frey to get to Avery’s, thirty minutes max to check out the house, ten minutes back.

May as well take a nap. Otherwise all I’ll do is stew.

A rap on the window brings me upright with a jerk. Frey is on the passenger side of the car, trying to keep out of sight. He’s already shifted back from panther to human and from my low vantage point on the front seat I have an interesting view.

I glance at my watch. He’s only been gone fifteen minutes. I hit unlock on the console and he slides into the seat.

“Did you get lost?”

He’s reaching into the backseat for his clothes. “Of course not.”

“Then why are you back so soon?”

“Panthers move fast.” He pulls on his jeans, puts on the shirt, slips his feet back into his shoes.

“So what is it then? You couldn’t have checked the place out in such a short time.”

“Didn’t need to.” Frey drags his fingers through his hair. “We can do it together.”

“Shit. The place is deserted?”

He smiles. “Just the opposite. I think Judith Williams is throwing a party.”

A party? Frey is grinning at me and I realize immediately that we couldn’t ask for a better scenario. I fire up the Jag and steer onto the road.

“Pretty ballsy on her part,” Frey says. “Taking over Avery’s house . . .” He shoots me a sideways glance, “ Yourhouse, actually, is one thing, but to openly throw a party is quite another. Who do you think she’s invited?”

“No mystery there. I know who she’s invited. Since the guest list for the ceremony on Tuesday includes the world’s vamp royalty, I imagine they’ve already started arriving.”

“She didn’t invite you.”

That provokes a laugh. “She didn’t have to, did she? Because here we are. I have to admit, she’s inherited her husband’s ability to anticipate my every move right along with his ability to piss me off.”

“She knew you’d come looking for David.”

“And she knew I’d come looking here. She is a crafty bitch.”

Frey’s voice takes on a tone of warning. “Don’t take any chances tonight. Keep close. Let me watch your back.”

We’ve pulled up to Avery’s gated entrance. The house is ablaze with lights. Music floats on the air, live music from the sound of it. A man approaches from the house side, opens the small gate set into the stone wall surrounding the place and comes to the car. He has a clipboard in his hand.

“This is a private party,” he says.

“I believe I’m on the guest list. Anna Strong.”

I follow his eyes as they scroll down the page, lips silently mouthing the names. After a moment he looks up. “No Anna Strong on the guest list. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

He’s human, big in a former pro-wrestler-gone-to-fat kind of way. His suit fits awkwardly across the chest, partly because he has too much chest and partly because of the not-very-well-concealed gun against his right shoulder.

“Well, here’s the thing,” I reply with my brightest good-girl smile. “I’m the owner of this house, and I didn’t give permission for anyone to have a party.”

That gives him a moment’s pause. Long enough for me to shove the car door open. It slams into his gut and he goes down with a whoosh of expelled air. He struggles to get up. I jump out and clock him again with an elbow to the forehead. This time he’s down for the count.

Frey is at my side. We each take a leg and drag him into the guardhouse. I take off his belt and use it to tie his hands, then shove his own handkerchief into his mouth. I wish we had something to secure his legs, but I can’t find anything and neither Frey nor I are wearing belts. In his jacket, I find a set of keys, separate from the usual car and house keys most people carry. On a hunch and after a couple of misses, I find the one that will lock the guardhouse from the outside. After pulling down the shades, and locking the door, our rent-a-cop is tucked away for a nice, long nap.

Frey and I exchange glances. Obviously, I was wrong about Judith expecting me to show up. She didn’t include my name on the guest list.

Frey says, “Front door or back?”

I think about it a minute. “Hell. Front. May as well shake things up.”

I don’t pull the car into the driveway but back it up and park it on the shoulder a few yards away from the gate. If we have to make a quick getaway, Frey and I can jump the fence and get to the car. Anyone following us will have to open the gate first.

Which gives me an idea. I bend close to see how the gate latches. “Think we can jam this?”

Frey gives it the once-over. “It’s electronic.” He looks up and around. “The sensor is up there on that post. If we broke it . . .” He starts looking around. “Here we go.” He hefts a good-sized rock, balances it on his palm, aims and fires it straight at the little blinking light on the top of a ten-foot pole.

It shatters and goes dark.

“Good arm! I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Three years of college ball.”

For a brief sliver of time, Frey and I smile at each other like two kids pulling a Halloween prank instead of two adults breaking and entering.

The moment passes. “Better move,” Frey says. “Someone may have heard the glass breaking.”

We jog up the long driveway toward the front of the house. The music gets louder, the lights brighter. In the turnaround near the front door, half a dozen stretch limos sit empty. No drivers. I open one of the doors and sniff. Vampire and human.

No surprise there.

Frey touches my arm. “How do you want to handle this?”

I tug the hem of my T-shirt down and run a hand through my hair. “Let’s party.”